


Anything

by AnonCat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Yaoi, because it's still Armin's body, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonCat/pseuds/AnonCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Prompt fill for the SnK Kink Meme] </p>
<p>Armin, when messing around with an old book of spells, unwittingly opens a gate to the Other Side... which allows Marco to slip back over, possess his body, and reunite with Jean in the most loving of ways. Smut, albeit sweet and tear-stained smut, ensues. </p>
<p>Marco/Jean, technically Armin/Jean; slight warnings for non-con since Armin has absolutely no say in this whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Link to prompt and fill: http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/3666.html?thread=6078802#cmt6078802 
> 
> So named because I listed to "Anything Can Happen" on repeat while writing this~

Books: well known to be Armin Arlert’s fatal weakness. For, when combined with a curiosity as vivacious as his, a book can be a very dangerous thing. 

As it was with the worn old book of spells the blonde boy had found; it had been halfway buried in the sea of papers on the floor of Hanji’s lab, but Armin could spot a book from a mile away. So he had picked it up, dusted it off, and hidden it under his uniform for the rest of the day. 

The words were like none he had ever seen, read by candlelight in his bed that night- foreign, in both pronunciation and form. He couldn’t help but whisper a few under his breath, although he was fairly certain his pronunciation was off. While he couldn’t understand the written language, he knew from the images that the particular spell he was reading from was for summoning the dead. He laughed softly at the thought of it; what a delightfully enchanting work of fiction he had found. So he tucked it under his pillow, deciding that he would try to translate it in what precious little spare time he had and thinking no more of the spell he had clumsily and unwittingly cast. 

… … … 

Jean Kirstein was fast asleep in his bunk, sprawled out as per usual, drool pooling on his pillow at a rather alarming rate. But something jolted him awake around midnight- a chill, a stroke of icy fingers along his cheek. Sitting up, dazed, he glanced around; was surprised to find the small blonde, swaying slightly in his doorway. 

“… Armin…?” he called hesitantly, sensing as much as observing something off about the boy. “You okay, dude?” 

The blonde didn’t respond, but instead shook his head slowly and made his way farther into Jean’s room. He shut the door behind him, plunging the pair of them into pitch darkness; alarmed, Jean fumbled with the candle on his nightstand. 

“Armin, dude!” he squeaked, dropping the book of matches and scrambling to retrieve it; he could hear his squadmate’s shuffling steps growing closer, and couldn’t fight back the panic that was threatening to choke him. “What’s the matter with you? Come on, man, you’re freaking me out!” 

Finally getting a match lit, Jean forwent the candle and simply held it up, although what the tiny flame illuminated made him yelp with shock. He dropped the match and it fizzled out on his stone floor, although not before it illuminated the gently smiling face. 

“M-Marco?!” 

Steady hands took hold of his- warm hands, soft and familiar, far larger than Armin’s. They helped him strike another match, this time lighting the candle and casting a rosy light over the room. Then Jean was free to stare at his visitor in shock, tears springing uncontrollably to his eyes. 

“… Marco…?” He laughed shallowly, reaching up. “I-I’m still dreaming… I have to be…” 

The freckled boy smiled soothingly, moving forward slightly and then sitting beside his best friend and lover. “You’re not dreaming, Jean,” he said softly, and then pushed his forehead against the other’s. 

“Th-then how?!” the living boy stammered, trying to choke back a sob and quite failing. 

“Little Armin found a book of spells in Hanji’s lab,” the ghost explained, his voice soft. “We always said that the wrong book would be his downfall, didn’t we?” 

“But what does that have to do with you?” Jean asked, tightening his grip on Marco’s hands. “So Armin found a book of spells- that doesn’t explain how you’re _here_ …!” 

Marco chuckled. “He unknowingly opened a… a gate that let me slip back into this world. I'm… well, I more or less hijacked his body,” the boy said sheepishly. “I just… I wanted so badly to be able to touch you again, Jean.” Not giving the other any chance to reply, he moved and pressed his lips to his startled lover’s; they radiated the heat of life, just like the rest of him. 

Moaning, Jean gave into the kiss with little hesitation; if Marco had been desperate to touch him, he had been just as desperate to hold his long-dead lover, if for only a moment. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, with the body his lover had borrowed fixed over him. He broke the kiss with a gasp, just long enough to ask breathily, “Wait- M-Marco, what about Armin?” 

“I don’t think he’d mind,” the freckled boy replied, his breath hot and moist against Jean’s mouth. “Do you?” 

Jean felt his tears beginning to overtake him; he reached up, wrapping his arms tightly around Marco’s borrowed body as a ragged sob was torn from his throat. 

“No,” he managed to whisper, burying his face in Marco’s neck. “I need you too much to care, anyway.” 

Murmuring loving words, Marco began to gently remove the other’s nightshirt; he also stripped the one from his borrowed body, and then stooped to kiss every inch of Jean’s bare chest. Squirming, the young soldier felt his whole being come alive with desire, a delicious sensation he hadn’t felt since his lover’s death; the fact that he could feel it now, in the arms of that very boy, was more than he could ever have asked for. 

Trailing kisses ever lower, Marco slipped his hands beneath the other’s trousers, pulling them easily down. He paused, fingertips brushing Jean’s hardening shaft; listened to the boy beneath him gasping for breath. 

“I’m missed you so much, Jean.” 

“Not as much as I’ve missed you…!” the other replied with a slightly bitter laugh, gripping the ghost’s shoulder; Marco smiled apologetically, then stooped and licked along his lover’s length. Jean’s back arched, fingers knotting in the sheets. Slowly, lovingly, Marco began to suck sweetly; an apology for being away so long. 

Panting, Jean closed his eyes briefly; tried to grasp what was happening and failed, simply fell to listening to Marco’s whispered moans and murmurs around his cock. Warm pleasure was radiating through his whole body, like nothing he had felt since… 

“Not… not since you…” 

“Mm?” Marco made a questioning sound, then swallowed; Jean couldn’t answer right away as a wave of pleasure washed through him, rendering him all but mute. 

“Ah-! N-Nah--! Na… not since… you…!” he panted, wriggling. “I haven’t… not since the last… time… we…!” 

Understanding, Marco ran warm hands up and down his friend’s sides; grasped his hips as he drew back, strands of saliva and precum connecting them for a moment before snapping. Then he came up, one hand on either side of Jean’s shoulders; gazed down lovingly at the smaller boy. 

“Jean, I love you so much. I've never stopped love you, not for a moment.” 

The tears were back- in both their eyes, now. “Marco… god, Marco, I love you too.” 

The olive-skinned boy pressed his lips to his friend’s mouth; Jean leaned up and into the kiss, deepening it impossibly until he was clinging to the ghost’s borrowed body, half-off the bed. Marco’s hand was at his entrance, prepping it gently; slipping in first one finger and then two, scissoring them carefully. Jean whimpered slightly as the third finger entered, and his lover murmured soothing things against his mouth. 

At last the kiss was broken; lowering his head again, Marco used his tongue to briefly slick his partner’s stretched entrance, as the currently inactive Jean did not keep lube handy (nor did the virgin whose body the ghost had borrowed). Once satisfied, the olive-skinned boy drew back slightly, grasping Jean’s hips in steady but tender hands. 

“Ready?” he asked softly, and received a whimpered affirmation. Smiling, he positioned himself and slid himself slightly into his partner; Jean gasped sharply, and the other paused. “Okay?” 

“Ya- yes…!” the young soldier panted, forcing his eyes to stay open; he wanted to gaze upon his lover by candlelight, for every moment that cruel fate allowed them. “Yes, M-Marco… I want you…! Please…!” 

Smiling obligingly, Marco pushed himself the rest of the way into Jean’s tight heat; both boys gasped in unison as hot pleasure flooded them, and those tears spilled over in Jean’s eyes once again. 

“Yes…” he breathed. “Yes… Marco…!” 

Gently, slowly, the freckled boy began to thrust; in, out, driving in and drawing out of his partner’s snug body, sending shockwaves of pleasure up Jean’s spine. The young soldier cried out quietly; moaned and sang softly as Marco struck the point buried deep inside him. The olive-skinned boy groaned heavily, tightening his grip on the smaller body beneath him as he felt his own climax coming closer… closer… 

“Marco…!” Jean wailed softly as he came, his seed splattering across his own chest as well as that of the ghost’s borrowed body. Marco came on the next thrust, his sticky warmth filling his partner deep within his body. Then, before he even removed himself, the ghost leaned down; kissed his lover passionately. 

“Jean…” he whispered. “Jean… my beautiful Jean… I love you… I love you so much…” 

“I miss you, Marco…” the other whispered, smiling through his tears and the kiss. “I love you, too…” 

… … … 

… … … 

… … … 

When Armin Arlert woke the next morning, he felt _fantastic._

Sitting up, he took stock of the situation… and smiled. He just felt so utterly fabulous in every way, shape, and form, he couldn’t stop smiling. It was becoming a bit worrisome. He looked around; made a more detailed observation of his surrounds. He found that he was a bed… not his own bed, and there was… humming, coming from the bathroom, along with the sound of a shower, and… he was missing… 

… his pajama pants. 

_Hm. Well fancy that._


End file.
